


All You Had To Do Was Ask

by chiarascura



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bethany at Skyhold, DA2 crew at Skyhold, F!Hawke/Fenris mention, F/F, Kissing, Pining, Requited Crush, Warden Bethany Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 03:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiarascura/pseuds/chiarascura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warden Bethany arrives at Skyhold, sees Isabela for the first time in seven years. Feelings happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All You Had To Do Was Ask

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the One Year 52 Stories challenge on Tumblr
> 
> Also for Femslash February because there are never enough lesbians

The tavern is full, but not overflowing. It’s like most other taverns she’s seen across the Free Marches and Orlais. After wandering across half of Thedas, first with the Wardens then with Aveline sent by her sister, all taverns start to blend into each other. Rowdy patrons, terrible ale, illegal dealings in the back rooms. Bethany had never particularly enjoyed them.   
  
This one, the Herald’s Rest as the sign above the door said, seems a little more familiar with the sight of Varric holding court near the bar, surrounded by a captive audience. Bethany had seen him in a similar position at the Hanged Man so many times, and for a moment, she felt like she was looking through a mirror into the past. Her sister would come up from behind her and start a conversation or a brawl, and everyone would turn to say, “Hawke!”   
  
Varric’s eyes glance over to the door automatically with the new arrivals, without really registering who stands there. She can see the moment of recognition lighting up in his eyes and he breaks out in a grin. “Sunshine!” She feels a mirroring smile cross her own face automatically, and she strides over.  
  
Varric stands to give her a bear hug, and Bethany can’t help the tears that prick her eyes. It’s been so long. “It’s good to see you, Varric.” He feels so solid, so real in her arms, and it’s the closest she’s been to family in years.   
  
He takes a step back, holds her at arm’s length and appraises her appearance. “You look good, considering the shit that’s been going down with the Wardens. How do you feel?”  
  
Bethany shrugs with a halfhearted smile, not really ready to get into the mess that has been her life for the past year quite yet. “Aveline came with me, but she’s getting settled in the barracks. I wanted to see if…” Her eyes drifted across the bar.  
  
Varric shook his head, reading her immediately. “Sorry, Sunshine. Your sister left a couple of days ago for Weisshaupt.”   
  
Bethany nods. Of course she did. She supposed it would be too much for fate to bring them together again so soon. She bites back her disappointment, her bitterness, and smiles again at Varric. “At least I get to see my favorite dwarf here! How’s the Inquisition treating you?”  
  
Varric searches her face for another moment and accepts her deflection. “It’s going great! Well, except for the rifts spewing demons, the crazy Tevinter cult, the red lyrium we brought back infecting everyone, and the ancient magister darkspawn trying to kill us. Otherwise, just peachy.”   
  
Bethany’s laughter bubbles out of her, uncontrollable. Oh Maker, she had missed him. Missed the whole Kirkwall crew, if she was being honest. Varric draws her over to the table where he sits and begins introducing her to the group. She nods and smiles, doing her very best to remember each person’s name and face. Someone shoves a mug into her hand, and she thinks, _at least it’s better than Corff’s_.  
  
Someone is supplanted from their seat beside Varric so she can sit, and he begins his Tale of the Champion to introduce her once again. She has heard the story before, usually from another Warden asking how realistic the book is. Never from the author himself. It’s an experience, to hear such personal, vivid memories told through another lens. One that embellishes and tweaks things to make it a better story.  
  
After he finishes and begins on another tale of their time in Kirkwall, Aveline arrives.  The greetings, introductions, and a round of freely-flowing ale begins again.   
  
Bethany is feeling pleasantly buzzed, not quite tipsy thanks to her Grey Warden stamina, when the group begins to scatter. Varric seems inclined to stay as long as Aveline and she do, and Bethany feels thankful. She’s not quite ready to face bed alone yet tonight, not after the long road and the disappointment of missing her sister by just a day.  
  
“So, Bethany,” one of her companions says. _Krem, maybe?_ “Varric’s told us about you a little bit. Is it true you singlehandedly brought down an ogre and a horde of darkspawn on your way to Kirkwall?”  
  
She laughs, familiar enough with Varric’s penchant for exaggeration. She starts to answer, but her attention is drawn to the door. At this time of night, more people seem to be leaving than entering, and the person swaggering into the bar moves with a confidence that draws every eye in the building. Bethany drops her mug to the tabletop with a clunk, and stares.   
  
She struts to the bar, still the striking figure demanding all eyes that Bethany remembered. She waves her hand for the bartender’s attention and takes a shot before turning to survey the room, giving Bethany a better view to catalogue the changes time has wrought. Her new hat is twice as large as her head and covered in black feathers, perched jauntily on dense, curly hair that Bethany’s fingers itch to run through. The gold in her lip, around her neck, dangling from her ears glitters in the light, stands out against the dark, smooth, lush expanse of her skin. Her tunic is as short and skimpy as ever, revealing and tantalizing just enough of her body to make Bethany’s thoughts skid to a halt. She is everything Bethany remembers, and more.  
  
In Kirkwall, Isabela had always been larger than life. The Queen of the Eastern Seas, shipwrecked in Kirkwall and always planning how she would make it back to the sea. The first time Bethany had seen Isabela, the woman kicked the asses of three men harassing her without so much as breaking a sweat. It was stunning and exciting, like no other woman she had seen before, and Bethany was captivated.    
  
First and foremost, Isabela was friends with Marian. Not Bethany. That much had been clear. Bethany was the tag-along little sister, the magical liability, and while Isabela was friendly enough, there was always an edge to their banter, one she couldn’t interpret.   
  
Isabela didn’t understand her virginity, the inevitable naivety growing up with Marian and Carver as overbearing siblings committed to protecting her “innocence.” Bethany certainly hadn’t missed the flirting, the intense subtext between Isabela and her sister; she just didn’t understand it. Bethany may have been young, but she knew there was something she didn’t know. It made her uncomfortable to see Isabela use her dark eyes and feminine wiles on Marian. Bethany didn’t realize until she got to the Wardens, so far from home, that she understood her own desire for Isabela, her jealousy at seeing her sister slowly being seduced.   
  
The moment Isabela sees them, her eyes widen almost comically. “Bethany? Captain Man-Hands?” She lets out a bark of laughter and walks over, a hypnotizing sway in her hips. It takes effort for Bethany to meet her eyes again. “Maker, it really is you!” Bethany stands to hug her, and Aveline claps a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“It’s good to see you, Isabela.” Aveline even sounds happy, despite the antagonistic greeting. “Varric didn’t mention you joined the Inquisition, too.”  
  
Isabela shrugs nonchalantly and sits down at the table, now emptier with the late hour. “Got a new ship, I’m an Admiral now.” She smirks, preening at her new title. She raises a hand to flick one of the feathers in her hat, and everyone at the table laughs. “Decided it was time to join the cause, I suppose.” She looks at Bethany, her eyes slowly appraising the changes in her. Bethany feels heat rise to her cheeks, and takes a drink of ale to hide it. “Look at you, baby sister, all grown up now.”  
  
She swallows. “That’s right.” She can’t pull her eyes from Isabela’s, and memories rise of conversations they had in Kirkwall. The dirty novels, the “advice” about sex, the flirting that Bethany didn’t understand. She breathes in slowly to steady herself, lifting her mug to her lips again. “In a lot of ways.”  
  
Krem speaks up, and Bethany is jolted out of her thoughts. “Bethany was just telling us about leaving Ferelden, fighting off dozens of darkspawn and an ogre!”   
  
Bethany looks at him, nods, smiles. Backs up Varric’s rendition of the tale, because the truth is too painful to tell to strangers. She acts like everything is still normal, like she isn’t full of anxious energy with Isabela’s arrival.  
  
She is unbearably aware of Isabela sitting across the table from her, listening intently, feeling the sharp gold eyes on her. The rest of the evening is like that. Someone talking, Bethany taking her cues of when to respond with laughter or incredulity from the rest of the crowd, but ultimately unable to take her attention from Isabela.  
  
The party finally breaks up, thanks to the late hour, the slowly emptying bar, and the complaints about wasting good coin on this swill. Varric, Aveline, some of the other Chargers take their leave, and Bethany promises to see them tomorrow. The only remaining people sit at the opposite end of the table, engaged in their own circle.   
  
Bethany and Isabela are left alone. Bethany should go, definitely needs sleep after traveling for so long across Orlais, but she can’t tear herself away.  
  
“So,” Bethany starts. She hasn’t seen Isabela in seven years, since before the Deep Roads, before she left Kirkwall for good. It didn’t feel like quite so long, and yet. Everything is different now. Bethany is a Grey Warden, Isabela is a pirate-slash-sometime Inquisition Agent, Marian is conspicuously absent. Bethany couldn’t think of any time Isabela and she spent alone without her sister. “I’m glad to see you made it out of Kirkwall. I heard rumors maybe you hadn’t.”  
  
Isabela looks down into her cup and smirks. “Wasn’t sure for a moment there if I would, but.” Her head lifts, but her eyes are far away. “Your sister would have marched into the Black City to drag my ass out of there.” Bethany feels her heart sink in her chest.  
  
She plasters a cheerful expression on her face, false and bright and hopefully convincing. “Thank the Maker she took care of you, then. But, why stay here, at Skyhold? How come you didn’t you follow her to Weisshaupt?”  
  
Isabela’s eyes focus again, painfully intent on Bethany’s face. She can’t help squirming under the scrutiny. “Now, why would I do a thing like that? Trek half across the world to see more Grey Wardens when the only one I want to see is right here?”  
  
Bethany feels her cheeks heat again, and she looks down at her mug. “I just figured… you’d want to be together.”  
  
Isabela is silent for a moment. Bethany feels a booted foot brush against her own under the table. She freezes, still doesn’t look up.   
  
Isabela stretches her arms above her head, and breathes deeply. “Well, sweetheart, seems like it’s about that time.” Bethany looks up at the finality in her voice.   
  
“About that time,” Bethany repeats, unsure of what ‘that time’ is exactly. Her fingers twist the mug in her hands, spinning it in slow, lazy circles.  
  
Isabela stands, keeping her eyes on Bethany’s. She tilts her head to the door of the tavern, winks and starts walking away. Bethany swallows.   
  
She feels hot inside, anxiety and anticipation and excitement warring together. That was a signal, surely. She just doesn’t know what it means.   
  
That’s a lie. Bethany knows what it means, having been in the Wardens for so long. She isn’t a virgin any longer, she knows what happens between people who desire each other. She just didn’t expect to see it from Isabela. Toward her.  
  
Bethany stands. Follows.  
  
The air outside is brisk and biting, a shock to her system after the easy warmth of the tavern. The courtyard is silent and dark.   
  
Isabela waits for her, leaning against the side of the tavern. Bethany stands only a few inches taller, but still she always feels like Isabela looms larger than life above her, around her. She steps up. Isabela smiles wickedly, and Bethany wants to be there.  
  
Isabela’s fingers come up to brush against her silver armor, smoothing the fabric on her collar, not touching skin, but Bethany shivers all the same.   
  
Bethany bites her lip, and likes the way Isabela’s eyes follow the motion. Isabela’s hands slide down her sides, brushing the sides of her breasts, until they rest at her waist. Bethany brings her own hands up to bracket Isabela against the wall.   
  
“What are you doing?” Bethany whispers. Their faces are only a breath apart.  
  
“What are _we_ doing, is the question,” Isabela responds in her own breathy tone. Bethany swallows again, and watches Isabela’s eyes follow the line of her throat.   
  
“I don’t… what about my sister?” It’s a struggle for Bethany to grind out the words, but somehow she manages. She knows the ale has little affect on her, so it must all be Isabela’s presence. Her closeness, her earthy smell, her pinning gaze.   
  
Isabela’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and her expression is too much like understanding and pity. Bethany doesn’t know if she can handle the rejection now. The fear climbs into her throat, blocking her voice and—   
  
Isabela shakes her head and chuckles. “Your sister is probably with Fenris right now, screwing his brains out.”  
  
Bethany can’t help the way her face scrunches up, eyebrows coming together and nose pinching up. “Fenris? Really? But I thought…”   
  
Isabela giggles, uses one finger to trace the creases in Bethany’s scowl. “Mmhmm, Fenris. As much as I’d like to be in the middle of that sandwich,” she smiles, a genuine, precious thing, “I’d rather be here, with you.”  
  
Bethany feels like she’s been punched in the gut, all her breath exhausted in one small sentence.   
  
Bethany ducks her head and brushes their lips together. Feather-light, teasing, but the feeling sends heat through her regardless.   
  
Isabela deepens the kiss, threading her fingers through Bethany’s hair and pulling their faces closer. Bethany’s eyes close and she is overwhelmed by Isabela’s presence in her other senses. Her lips taste like spice, like bitter chocolate; she smells like the sea and salt and skin. Bethany parts her lips and Isabela’s tongue immediately dives in.   
  
In a heartbeat, Isabela has spun them around and Bethany is backed up against the tavern, the cold stone against her back a sharp contrast to the warm soft woman at her front. Bethany’s hands grip Isabela’s back, pressing their hips together. Isabela makes a pleased noise that sends a bolt of heat directly to her belly.   
  
Bethany’s hand moves to Isabela’s side, palming the curve of her waist, revelling in her heat and touch. Bethany’s thumb brushes the side of Isabela’s breast gently, and the accompanying noise makes her bold. Her thumb rubs over a peaked nipple, apparent even through the coarse fabric of Isabela’s corset.   
  
Isabela hums into Bethany’s mouth and every sensitive spot in Bethany’s body lights up at her affirmation. After long moments of kissing, Bethany pulls her mouth back, tilting her face forward until their foreheads gently lean together.  
  
“That was… wow.” Bethany huffs out a laugh.  
  
“I knew you had it in you, Sunshine.” Bethany can feel Isabela’s smile and her fingers sliding up and down her back.   
  
“Oh, Bela,” she murmurs, feeling out of breath and lightheaded. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” She can’t open her eyes, can’t see how Isabela might laugh at her childish crush, the little ember of feeling she’s held onto for all these years.   
  
Instead, Isabela strokes Bethany’s face gently, with such tenderness that Bethany can’t help looking back at her. She doesn’t recognize the expression, more used to confidence or irreverence or violence in Isabela’s eyes. It’s… unnerving, the intensity and the emotion she can see.   
  
“Bethany. Sweetheart.” Isabela’s thumb traces the crease of her lip. “All you had to do was ask.”   
  
Bethany smiles. “Okay then. This is me, asking.” She pulls Isabela back to her to finish what she started.


End file.
